


Breakfast

by thepotatoparty (theskittlesparty)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Bromance to Romance, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Summer, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskittlesparty/pseuds/thepotatoparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is money and there’ll never be enough for all because greed succeeds generosity. Harry wishes there was something to be done for it, only he feels too content to move a bone. This is what he breathes for. These idle summer thoughts, while the rain is torrential and the air is sticky. Nothing is quite like the easy wink of sunshine for leaving a lasting grin on a person’s disposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakfast

Harry wants to be anywhere but where he is, all of the time. Sometimes, Niall is enough to amuse him, for a while. He’s so bored of himself, though. He doesn’t know what he wants, if he wants anything. Harry is pretty apathetic regarding most things, except Niall, maybe. He does all of the things he used to but now he doesn’t feel anything when he does them. He thinks maybe he’s a robot or something.

Niall knows that adults are full of it, so he never pays them any attention. Niall likes entertainment, he wants adventure, he loves getting messed out of his mind, and he hopes Harry never tires of him, or jumps off a building. Sometimes he worries that Harry might.

Sally is travelling the world, running away from responsibility because why should she have any? She’s not the responsible kind.

Louis always collects Zayn from wherever he’s ended up in the night. They never mention the sleepwalking, and Zayn is forever grateful that Louis is so laid back. He never asks questions. 

Louis never reads in class. He never takes his exams seriously. He lets everyone believe he gives no fucks because it’s embarrassing that he’s sixteen and doesn’t know how to read.

Charles may lack the ability to pay attention but people love him because he’s beautiful and he doesn’t say much. He has the perfect family, the perfect life, the largest library, the best friends. Only that doesn’t mean he’s satisfied. He loves a mystery, and Bobby might be the perfect puzzle.

Bobby's parents are absentminded, so much so that they often forget that Bobby is their son and not one of their many associates. Bobby smiles, Bobby laughs, Bobby listens and Bobby watches. Bobby doesn’t speak, though, because he’s learnt that nobody listens to you when you’re nobody. He likes to blend into the wallpaper, so that nobody cares enough to ask him why his parents never loved him.

Olive doesn’t want anyone, doesn’t like the idea of being in love, doesn’t want to depend on anything. Even the thought of intimacy makes her feel ill, but she likes it that everyone understands her as an easy lay. She adores Liam, though. He’s the only one she’ll allow to hold her hand.

Liam feels so goddamned ashamed of himself that he cannot look his father in the eye, finds any reason not to be at home so that he can avoid the fog of disappointment that chokes him as soon as he walks through the door. He’ll do anything, he thinks, at this point to pay his father back. 


	2. Apricots

Everything is money and there’ll never be enough for all because greed succeeds generosity. Harry wishes there was something to be done for it, only he feels too content to move a bone.  
  
This is what he breathes for. These idle summer thoughts, while the rain is torrential and the air is sticky. Harry and Niall have gathered everyone at the cottages, and there is cider and cigarettes and lazy conversation. Nothing is like the easy wink of sunshine for leaving a lasting grin on a person’s disposition.  
  
Harry revels in the simplicity that is a Dover summer. They’ll be heading across the water in later months but for now the hours are endless, the company is perfect, and the cliffs are as white as their new cotton bed sheets. He feels so very British, so staunchly proud, because this place is theirs and theirs alone.  
  
He prefers to watch the curve of Niall’s lips in these early afternoon hazes, the way his mouth shapes every word so delicately, easing a slow drawl that forever sends Harry sleepy with contentment. He doesn’t even mind the heat today; the thundering of the rain over the roof of the summerhouse is cold and calming.  
  
They’re all fairly in their underwear. There is nothing much to be dressed for and they’ve all seen all of each other that the eye can behold. What’s a little lingerie between friends?  
  
Somehow, Olive and Liam find it within themselves to tangle their limbs close together, never minding the warmth it draws to them. Olive worships the heat, and Liam worships Olive.  
  
Louis is lying on the wooden floor, fingertips restlessly searching, though for what Harry hasn’t the faintest. Zayn, when he’s not hovering by the open double doors with a cigarette held gently between his fingers, has an entire sofa to himself. He’s one for dozing in and out of consciousness at any time of year, never mind when the season brings its own lethargic pull, and it’s best to leave him be.  
  
Charles and Bobby have an armchair to share, which seems not to bother either in the slightest. Bobby’s fingers are dancing through Charles’ wild baby blonde mop and Charles allows this, forever searching through the songs on his iPhone because he’s never quite content with the current selection.  
  
Harry himself is lying on a chaise with his feet on the bare shoulders of Niall, cross legged beside the coffee table. He feels drunk in his friends’ company. They can spend hours doing nothing of substance and when he is with them he feels extraordinary, endless, empty in the most luscious of ways. Of course, he only speaks of such notions when Niall has held a spliff to his lips, when no one minds because they’re all in agreement and adding their own similar nonsense.  
  
They’re a pretty awesome bunch, really.  
  
Sally has even emerged from hiding for the week, having fled her comfortable new life in the Scandinavian mountains to join in their nothingness. She suggests breakfast from her perch on the breakfast bar, following which there are lethargic, heavy mumbles of affirmation and an echoing growl from Niall’s belly.  
  
Heat steals the appetite of the biggest glutton and there is far too much time to while away to bother themselves over the little things like feeding.  
  
Sally knows how to behave motherly, when she so chooses, and is prompted every once in a while to mollycoddle her younger charges. Sometimes she enjoys the superiority of age. Harry muses that she likes feeling important, as long as the conditions are her own.  
  
They graze for a good few hours on a mountain of lavish offerings, of poached eggs and smoked salmon, of pastries and melon, of coffee and iced tea.  
  
They’ve made no plans for the evening as yet but they’ll find somewhere to wander, probably. They might throw a party, if they can be concerned with the fools of their school who’ll lope here and speak their silly tripe.  
  
Maybe they’ll go midnight fishing, instead.  
  
They’ve beer from Belgium, courtesy of Zayn’s latest disappearing act. It blends well with the sweet taste of marijuana. Harry wants the weed, or the beer, or anything to loosen the lips of Bobby. He wants terribly to hear his voice, see him wrecked and comfortable and pleasantly easy. He’s mentioned it once to Charles, who seems to have become Bobby’s keeper despite that the kid is old enough to be his own man. Charles was flat in his refusal to participate, except Harry could see the want hiding behind his beautiful eyes.  
  
Harry, as they are all guilty of, has chanced Charles’ disapproving eyes to nudge Bobby gently into saying something, anything. Niall is far less subtle though no less polite in his attempts to make Bobby talk, if only the odd word, the solitary sentence, occasionally reducing himself to a begging mess if he’s drunk enough. He’ll usually be satisfied enough with a silent guffaw, though, as long as he’s the cause.  
  
Bobby is always cordial, though he remains as silent as ever through their endless coaxing. He even looks faintly amused by the attention and not remotely offended, carefully joining in with whatever mess they’re making of themselves, smiling cheekily all the while.  
  
And even though his glassy eyes never hold the smile, Harry definitely likes the clown.  
  
His attention becomes drawn once again to Niall, as it is wont to do. The kid is tickling his feet, as if he isn’t aware the revenge that will encounter. Harry feels the rumbling of his giggles, feels himself fall into the maturity of a child, feels his bliss spike as the rain carries on above them.  
  
Harry feels safe like this, long limbs encasing Niall in a cocoon, plotting ideas of soggy supras and facial mud pies, his own skin warm and sticky, his people in a lackadaisical coma all around him, and the rain thundering against the roof of the summerhouse.  
  
No, they’re not proving theorems or eradicating the world of its power maddened emperors; the world at large will carry on under the thumb of its oppressing economy.  
  
Alas, this is them, as warm as any dream could hope to be.  
  
This little world is theirs for the keeping.


	3. Bananas

Zayn is sat at the top of the slide, looking like a giant amongst the tiny playground equipment, his legs reaching more than halfway down the slope of metal. Louis grins to himself and approaches his friend, not waiting on any manner of response. Zayn never likes to make the first grunt of acknowledgement and Louis enables him, always.

“Have you ever had a dream you wish you could record to play over and over again?”

The question coming from Zayn without prompt is unexpected. He only lets his surprise at this different play of events wash over him for a small moment before giving the question due thought and process. He tilts his head, and from what he can see of Zayn’s face, the gesture earns him a soft smile.

That’s good. Sometimes, on a night such as this, when Louis must track down his friend to one of the many haunts of his walking dreams, Zayn isn’t in the mood for smiling, or making any effort towards conversation. Louis knows, despite having never heard confirmation from the man himself that Zayn is embarrassed by his sleepwalking. He might even be a little concerned. Louis allows him his pride and they never mention it. They don’t even joke about it because Louis knows Zayn better than anyone and he sees that determinedly blank look on his face whenever someone jests, no matter how harmlessly, about his nightly wanderings.

Louis has to give him credit, though, because Zayn is excellent at pretending he doesn’t care. Nobody but Louis knows the truth of it. He knows Louis sees past the mask and that he never mentions it is Zayn’s way of giving his permission, like Louis is allowed to know him that deeply.

Louis has his own mask. He thinks probably everyone does. Certainly he has learned to display only the emotions that make life a little easier. Forget the rest, they’re invalid.

Zayn yawns dramatically and Louis remembers in a burst of pink that he’s been asked a question. The head tilt returns.

“Obviously. Doesn’t everyone? That’s normal, you know, not wanting a dream to end yet, not wanting to wake up.”

Zayn nods once at that, looks down at his hands for a beat, frowning intensely. And then he slides down the chute, his movement a little jerky because it wasn’t designed with the width of his hips in mind. His feet touch the ground long before he stops sliding and he nearly nosedives into the soft tarmac. He rights himself before he’s gained his balance and barrels sideways into Louis, who barely manages to catch him.

They don’t end up sprawled on the ground, though, so count it as a win.

Figuring they’ll probably be here a while longer, Zayn lays himself gingerly on the tarmac, pulling Louis down next to him with a lazy tug. The cold of the ground reminds him of his state of undress, that he is only wearing a thin pair of cotton boxers compared with Louis’ warm lounge pants. A shiver works up his spine and compresses before releasing in a tight spell down each of his muscles like an exhale. Temporarily relaxed, he looks for the stars, though they’re hard to find this deep into town.

He looks at Louis instead.

Zayn knows there are parts of Louis that are hidden away in tiny compartments, dead bolted to the walls of his stubborn pride. He wants to see them. He knows Louis doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t pry.

Oh, but he wants to. Sometimes it aches that there are entire worlds of Louis that he’s never met. He understands hoarding yourself away, though. He understands it can feel like the most important thing. He only hopes Louis will show someone, someday, all of himself. The weight of it must surely make him ill.

“I think Bobby might begin talking any day now. Have you noticed his smile almost looks genuine?”

Zayn hates when Louis talks between the lines. He knows, by the tone of his waxy voice, that Louis means something else entirely to what he is saying, that there is a hidden message tucked away in there for Zayn to unwrap.

Only Zayn’s never been good at such things.

They all want Bobby to open himself to them, yet Zayn knows Louis doesn’t bother mentioning the elephant in the back of all their minds unless he needs to tell Zayn something and cannot form the words correctly in his head. Louis would rather allow the distraction of Bobby’s mysteries to mask his own hesitation.

Zayn wants to say as much, wants to ask Louis for the answers he never gives, the questions Zayn never asks of him. He knows he won’t, not tonight. Louis doesn’t want him to; the length of his face at present is too reaching for such conversation.

Zayn sighs and Louis echoes him. A smiles draws itself on Zayn’s lips. He wishes this is how they could be forever.

Easy.

Alas, Louis, growing characteristically bored of being still and silent, rolls himself over to lay on top of Zayn. He grins downs at him for a beat then pushes up, standing over him and extending a seductive hand. Zayn takes it, leaves his whole bodyweight in the hands of Louis, finds his feet and Louis’ waist, steps back and shakes his hair from his eyes.

“Push me?”

Zayn sighs again, through a smile, and nods. Louis takes to the swings like a small child might. He loves the sound of Louis’ laughter, the only part of him that is never repressed. Happily, Louis never holds back with his glee.

Zayn entertains Louis for as long as he can mind but eventually the swing slows to a gentle halt as repetition fades into boredom. Taking up his seat next to Louis, Zayn begins twisting his chains, feet dipping in between each other to swing him in awkward circles.

“I like the night time, perhaps more than I like the day.”

“You’re an odd one, Louis Tomlinson.”

“And don’t ever forget that.”

Louis lets out a giant yawn.

Zayn allows the chains to unwind in a short and dizzy blur.

Louis hiccups, just once.

Zayn shivers again.

It doesn’t matter, that they’re colder than Antarctica, that it’s two in the morning, that they’re wearing pyjamas, that it might be illegal for them to be here at this time, that they’re too old for playgrounds.

They’re being idiots.

They’re saying everything with nothing.

They’re simply being.

Zayn grins.

Louis sneezes and nearly falls off the swing.


	4. Croissants

Niall and Harry are awake, though only wandering aimlessly about the place in a half dream, when Louis and Zayn return. There are no questions on their appearance, their lack of appropriate outdoor wear. After all, Harry and Niall are hardly more dressed and, in any case, the sun is beginning to show its morning might. The cottage is otherwise silent and so the four of them could be the only ones out of bed.

Why wake early for so little?

They contemplate breakfast, settle on melons and bananas then take to the simple darkness of the den, which doubles as a studio whenever they quite feel like being productive. Olive joins them in time to sample the fruits and it remains unsaid that her lack of shadow is a surprise. Liam is normally the first to greet the day, when Zayn has kept his wandering to his dreamland. The kid is pretty troubled, as they all are and they understand how dreams can feel better than waking.

Niall is humming as he polished off the last of the melon, looking out the high window, watching the sun wash away the pink. Harry pokes his nose, doesn’t like a quiet Niall, the kid is so hard to read and it scares him a little to think what could be hiding in that fantastic little head of his. Niall grins at him, eyes bright, and Harry can breathe again. He tugs gently at the hairs on Niall’s shin, because they’re there on Harry’s lap so Harry feels entitled, and Niall shudders a laugh. He kicks a little in reflex, his calf flexing with the effort not to hurt Harry.

What a sweetheart.

Olive is sat with them and alone, close enough to be polite and far enough as to be out of the touches of warm, bare skin. She’s a funny, Niall says so often. They adore her enough, though. She’s the sweetest little darling even with the tales she leaves unspoken.

Louis mentions cliff diving, suggests it be planned soon because, if they hadn’t noticed, no one has made any progress outside of visiting the store and wandering the woods a little. The hum in collective agreement, though such plans will probably not be made until at least the following evening.

Fuck if they aren’t the laziest creatures to have ever existed.

They’re in the middle of nothing, in dense woodland where the nearest thing to civilisation is a small convenience store and a playground. They have neighbours somewhere on the other side of the valley, somewhere far enough that sound does not travel. This is what all of them need, this nothingness. The end of school will find them before they know where they are, who they are, and it’s all any of them can do to hold onto these last gasps of childhood. 

Harry feels it prudent not to think forward, to the end of the next year, to the time when teenagehood will end and they’ll all be established as adults with career paths to build and families to plan. He’d rather do anything than be conventional, plain, ordinary. Where is the fun in the expected?

Harry wants adventure.

He knows that is the true reason they’ve gathered here, as much as it is to remember themselves this carefree and young in the boring adult years to come, they’re here on that endless search for excitement. They’ll find it, Harry knows they’ll find it. They’re too determined not to, even if they’ve yet to venture outside.

Footsteps sound from upstairs, suggesting that Liam, Charles and Bobby might be making moves to enter the real world once again. Perhaps they ought to give the day a start.

Niall raises himself from the huddle of their bodies, mumbles something about a shower, and leaves for the bathroom. Louis paws at Harry for a long while and eventually Harry gives in, allows Louis to drag him out into the green, to find a length of sundrenched lawn, undisturbed by the canopy of trees so that their bodies might turn to leather by the end of the month. Zayn salutes Olive, pulling a packet of tobacco from beneath a rogue pillow, of which he seems to have a stash in every room of the cottage, and climbing the stairs lethargically.

Olive watches him until his feet vanish from her sight and she sighs. She does enjoy being alone, prefers it more than half of every day. This morning she has woken up confused, however, and she knows she will not shake this feeling unless she talks it through. Who better than the sweet but often silent Zayn, their resident gentleman?

She stretches like a cat before wandering up the stairs and outside, braving the muggy heat of the late morning to accompany Zayn in his first cigarette of the day. Where Olive chooses tea to wake herself up, he prefers tobacco. They sit together at the little table with lion paws for feet, feeling domestic, feeling easy. Harry and Louis are nowhere nearby, so far as Olive can see. Good, she thinks to herself.

She could do without their distraction.

Olive watches Zayn smoke, taking drag after long drag, the puffs of smoke curling around his ears. He is beautiful.

“Why the long face, darling?”

She simply watches him, no answers forthcoming.

“I think I know.”

“Oh?”

“I think you’re in love.”

She looks out over the balcony, tiny animals going about their business in the stretching woodland below, their little ecosystem a flurry in the early taste of the season.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“I think I have. I think I am.”

“With who?”

“You know who.”

“That’s true enough.” 

She sighs, mourning her own feelings. Why must she feel so empty? Can love be this hollow?

“Who am I in love with, then?”

“You know who.”

“I’m beginning to think this conversation is redundant.”

He takes a longer drag, the smoke furling from his lips in lethargic plumes. His chocolate eyes find her honey ones and he grins.

“I know him well, as it happens. I know that he, himself, is in love.”

“With who?”

“You know who.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Where is the surprise? Nothing is romantic without a few hidden truths.”

She takes his hand in her own, small fingers turning white in their ferocious grasp. Zayn knows by that small gesture how lost and confused Olive is feeling, how much she needs him in this moment. He feels a little proud that she would come to him first with this, and he does know he’s the first from the wild dancing in her eyes.

“I don’t want to know everything.”

He smiles softly.

“I do.”

“Lucky that you seem to be well on your way then, isn’t it?”

They hum a laugh together and he dabs the end of his cigarette stub into a glass bowl. 

“Fancy another?”

“You know I don’t. I’ll sit with you, I guess. You make good company.”

She pauses a beat.

“Occasionally.”

“Cheers, love.”

“You’re ever so welcome, darling.”

Zayn lets her be silent, allows her the time she needs to find her words. He knows all too well how difficult translating thoughts to conversation can be. They spend a few more cigarettes in that comfortable silence, watching each other and watching the birds darting about the treetops.

“I think I’ve never been more frightened in my life.”

“I know, doll, but you’re safe here with us. We’ll never let you drown, we’ll never let you compromise yourself for such a silly thing as love.”

“You’re far too fucking clever for your own good, Bear.”

“So it’s been said.”

He tickles her wrist, strokes the back of her hand with his thumb.

“This is only the beginning, sunshine. Understand?”

She kisses his hand, nods earnestly and then vacates the balcony.

She is a flighty little thing.


End file.
